“In the mountain,” I say slowly, “through the ritual. She said my blood was singing to her. That I washers.”
Selene goes very still.
“Drayke killed Veylor weeks ago. Tore his throat out during a battle at his fortress.” Her voice is carefully controlled. “We thought that would slow things down. Buy us time. But if Valdris was already speaking to you directly?—“
“She’s closer to waking than you thought.”
“Yes.”
The word hangs between us. Outside the window, I can see the mountains stretching toward the horizon—beautiful, ancient, hiding horrors beneath their peaks.
“Even though Veylor is dead,” I say, thinking out loud, “the rogues who served him—they’re still out there. Still loyal to Valdris. Most of them scattered after Veylor fell. But scattered isn’t gone. And Valdris has been gathering followers for two thousand years. Veylor was her most devoted general, but he wasn’t her only one.”
“So there are others. Other generals. Other rogues willing to hunt Fire-Bringers for her.”
“Yes.”
I pick up my cup again. The tea has gone cold, but I drink it anyway. Need something to do with my hands while my mind races.
“The Relics,” I say, “there are four of them. Four locks on her prison. How weakened are they?”
“Two are partially. Auren’s been trying to assess the damage, but the Relics are scattered across different territories. The one Veylor was using—the one my blood was channeled into—went dormant after the battle. Drayke and I managed to seal it again with combined fire.” She hesitates. “But dormant isn’t destroyed. And if the other Relics are also being targeted?—“
“Then someone else is doing what Veylor was doing. Hunting Fire-Bringers. Gathering blood. Picking up where he left off.”
“That’s what we’re afraid of.”
I set down the cup. Stand. Move to the window, where the light is stronger and the walls don’t feel quite so close.
“How many Fire-Bringers are there? In total?”
“We don’t know. The bloodline was nearly wiped out centuries ago—Valdris’s original breeding program, then the wars that followed her imprisonment. Most Fire-Bringers today don’t even know what they are. The power stays dormant unless something triggers it.”
“Something like being kidnapped and used as a blood battery.”
“Or falling in love with a dragon.” Selene’s voice carries a hint of dark humor. “That’s what triggered mine. Very romantic. Very traumatic. Would not recommend as a first date.”
Selene suddenly set her cup down. “Did you dance?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
“Before. In your other life. You move like someone who trained in something physical.”
I stare at her for a moment, thrown by the observation. By its accuracy.
“Irish dance. Céilí and sean-nós, mostly. I started when I was six.” The memory surfaces despite my attempts to keep it buried—Mrs. Flaherty’s studio, with its scuffed wooden floors and mirrors that showed every mistake. The satisfaction of a perfect treble reel. The ache in my calves after a competition. “I stopped when I started vet school. No time.”
“But you miss it.”
“I—“ I pause. Consider the question honestly. “Yes. Sometimes. When everything was chaos at the clinic, when a case was going badly and I couldn’t fix it, I’d think about dancing. About how simple it was. Just you and the music and the movement. No decisions to make. No lives depending on you getting it right.”
“Will you go back to it? When this is over?”
When this is over.
Such a simple phrase. Such an impossible assumption—that there’s an “over” waiting somewhere, that I can return to a life that feels like it belonged to someone else.
“I don’t know if there’s a ‘when this is over,’” I say quietly. “Based on what you just told me, this war has been going on for two thousand years. Valdris isn’t going to stop. The rogues aren’t going to stop. And I’m—“ I touch my wrist, where the scars from the manacles are still healing. “I’m marked now. My blood’s been used in her ritual. She called mehers.”
